you go to Natsuki to pick up the repaired tracker. just then, a meme from that same guy pops up on your phone. you smile. In a split second, Natsuki reads the change in your expression.

“If you’re going to stand there hovering and grinning stupidly at your screen, just get out. your breathing is throwing off my laser calibration.”

“come on, Seba. I just got a funny video. want to see it?”

Natsuki abruptly sets down his tool. “no, I don’t. my brain isn’t wired to filter other people’s low‑brow humor.”

“fine, suit yourself,” you shrug, tucking the phone into your pocket, even though the screen still winks with a new message notification.

Natsuki tracks the movement with a quick, sharp glance. he gives an irritated twitch of his shoulder, picks up the soldering iron again, but instead of getting back to work, he just grips it too tightly. his fingers, encased in protective gloves, tremble slightly.

“who is it?” he tosses out casually, keeping his eyes fixed on what his hands are doing.

“just someone I know,” you reply vaguely, leaning against the edge of the workbench, which is piled high with parts. “I helped him with some store purchases yesterday. he’s funny.”

the word “funny” hangs in the stuffy air of the workshop like a trigger. Seba freezes. the laser beam on his rig flashes briefly, erratically — the calibration is completely thrown off now.

“funny, huh,” Natsuki twists his lips into a dry, sarcastic smirk. “got it. another slacker with too much free time to send degenerate pictures. I hope this ‘funny guy’ of yours has better combat training than a pair of house slippers. because in our line of work, the ones who laugh the most usually catch a bullet first.”

“what’s gotten into you? we’re just chatting.”

Natsuki shoots up from his stool. now he’s looking down at you and in his eyes, the usual teenage irritation is tangled with something darker, more aggressive — something he’s working hard to keep in check. he takes a step forward, forcing you to press right up against the tool rack.

“I’m not worked up,” he grits out, and his voice carries those cold undertones that a lot of people forget about because of his grumpy demeanor. “I don’t care. but if this idiot distracts you from your job and makes you drop your guard, that becomes my problem. I’d rather not have to repair your gear later because you got pinned in some alley while texting him back.”

he reaches out and sets a small, perfectly repaired silver disc down with a dull thud on the shelf right next to your head.

“your tracker. take it and go be with your jokester. I’ve got work to do.”

you look at the device, then at Natsuki. his stubbornly clenched jaw, furrowed brows, and the way he pointedly turns away, hiding his eyes behind his fringe, give him away completely. this isn’t just concern for safety. It’s pure, textbook Natsuki — proud and prickly — jealousy.

you take the tracker, for a second, your fingers accidentally brush his palm. Seba flinches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“thanks for fixing it, Seba,” you say quietly, hiding a smile so you don’t rile him up again. “your laser’s working perfectly, by the way.”

he exhales loudly through his nose, goes back to his stool, and, with his back to you, mutters, “obviously. I’m the best engineer at JCC. and the quota of stupidity in this room for today is officially filled.”